Written February 7, 2015
My biggest fear about these nights is being alone. In two weekends I’ve got the apartment to myself and although it’s nice to have a hobbit hole, it’s even better to be out on an adventure. Maybe it’s not doing things alone that frighten me. I guess it’s just being overwhelmed by opportunity and sinking with the ship rather than try to kick against these many waves.
Lucky nights come and go. Last Friday I was at the end of a table at Schroeder’s Beer Haus antagonizing coworkers to finish off their boots of ale– fast forward to now, sitting at the window of the same Peet’s on Fillmore letting the ink flow out. Flow out while I can tell it’s going to soon run dry.
This is a place with endless possibilities– just as endless as they are disappointing. You’re not the only one living out here– it’s a place with endless choices for everyone else too– it’s only a matter of where any of us can actually collide. Reaching out to people isn’t my style but it is all I can do. It sounds desperate but who really cares. We’re all desperate in a big space like this, and isn’t that why we all live out here?
What helps is the street light. And the neon lights of signs draped in windows and the glow of the bar at Harry’s because of the mirrors’ reflections against the wall. It all means you’re never in the dark. And the fog only makes these streets feel anything but empty. Smoke and mirrors.
So maybe we’re not desperate, everything is just an illusion.